


and all the big words seem to stay on the inside

by nascence (noktah)



Series: hearts, captured [1]
Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, chan and byung are mentioned, literally word vomit and repetitions i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23544796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noktah/pseuds/nascence
Summary: In his dreams, Seungsik's heart was courageous as he leaned closer and closer to Sejun's body; his fingers were brave as he cupped Sejuns's fairy face; his lips were dauntless as he mouthed his love into Sejun's smile.Seungsik dreams of something sweet that seems impossible.
Relationships: Im Sejun/Kang Seungsik
Series: hearts, captured [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890535
Comments: 20
Kudos: 90





	and all the big words seem to stay on the inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chimtozzi (rheavee)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rheavee/gifts).



> title is taken from daniel olsen's [_inside ___](https://open.spotify.com/track/6A6NNsfzoGYg0okz3foVar?si=oHqAQXVQTtGlYlH3Q9PZ_A) _ _(sayonara wild hearts ost)__ _ _and one of sejun's pose is based on page 12 of yamaguchi tsubasa's[ _nude model_](https://s5.mangadex.org/data/47a00f8b3babc1170635271e2bb5064d/p12.png). please note that the model and photographer thing is only used loosely.__

This is how Seungsik wants to kiss Sejun.

In his dreams, it happened in this chestnut-colored coffee shop where they first met each other, discussing the direction of their first pictorial together—distant loves, he'd recall the prompt as his chest tightened. In his dreams, Seungsik did not take photos of Sejun messaging other people like what he usually does—instead those eyes focused on him and him alone, intently watching every line and curves contorting on his face as Seungsik recalled the story of Chan tripping over nothing. In his dreams, they took a long path of dark, empty alleys just so Seungsik can hold his hand in public without fear of persecuting eyes.

In his dreams, Seungsik's heart was courageous as he leaned closer and closer to Sejun's body; his fingers were brave as he cupped Sejuns's fairy face; his lips were dauntless as he mouthed his love into Sejun's smile.

In his dreams, he became the reason why Sejun smiled wider and wider, brighter and brighter, and he anchored himself to that innocent kiss. Another promise for another date.

But this is how Sejun kisses him.

In a hotel room they don't even share. Sejun pinning him to the door. Their lips meeting each other hurried. Teeth keep knocking on each other. Nerves clouded by alcohol. Again and again as if tomorrow God would fold back the universe into nothingness.

There is nothing sweet about it, but it happens anyway and Sejun's already unbuckling his belt, ghosting feathery touches on his clothed cock. Seungsik is ruptured inside out.

“Wanna suck you off,” Sejun says so easily, glancing up at him, eyes hooded but the gaze is sharp, cutting every single thread of reason inside Seungsik's skull. “Can I?”

And, oh, that gaze. His desire immediately floods into his skin and bones, commanding him to nod. Giving in to the pleasure, giving in to Sejun's touch.

Sejun's lip curls up and he finally swallows him deep. Seungsik throws his head back to the comfort of the pillow, listening to the way every side of the universe quiets down except for Seungsik's ragged breathing and Sejun's trapped moans, and in the void of everything, Seungsik regretfully thinks, _Oh, I don't have a sex playlist._

* * *

Sejun does not leave at dusk like how his previous one-night lovers often escaped, but he does not linger either. Seungsik, still naked under the cover, stares at the way Sejun buttons his striped shirt wrong and rolls up his pants in different lengths. So clumsy, yet those fingers were the reason why Seungsik came undone last night. Heat is simmering slowly in his fingertips, itchy to get his camera and capture this intimate, candid posture of Sejun. Instead, he gets off his bed and stands beside Sejun, eyeing the model's reflection.

 _Beautiful_ , he wants to say, but what comes out is, “How do you even walk a runway when you can't even change clothes properly?”

“Rude.” Sejun pouts. “I'm just teeny tiny bit drowsy, that's all.”

“Then you should just sleep more,” Seungsik advises. He does not add, _just stay with me all morning_.

“It's okay. Got something to do after all with Byungchan after all. He'll be mad if I don't show up on time.”

There was this photoshoot where Byungchan and Sejun dressed up in matching outfits, caged in stripes and flowers, leaning into each other so close it looked like an afterghost of a kiss. Chan had shoved the magazine to Seungsik excitedly, so smug about having an internationally renowned haute couture brand as a client. Seungsik thought of the photo and the leftover soju he drank that night burned the fuel of jealousy inside his stomach.

His expression sours. He does not know how to respond, and he does not have the ability to persuade Sejun to eat breakfast together, so he nags.

He nags about how Sejun ought to learn to dress up efficiently, elegantly under this short time. How designers would not work with him like this. How photographers won't work with him if he takes too long to get into the mood. How models do not have the opportunity to linger behind the scenes but have to have the ability to make their presence haunt the audience.

Sejun grunts, jokingly says _yes, mom_ and does not really listen, just watching him corrects his buttons for him.

“Why am I doing this for you, again?” asks Seungsik as he buttons up the sleeves when he already knew the answer; hopelessly stuck in the pit of love.

“You tell me. I didn't ask you to do this, y'know.” Sejun hums thoughtfully. “Maybe because you like to doll me up.”

“I never thought of you like a doll.”

“Maybe, but I've always been your puppet, aren't I? Pulling the right strings so I can pose the way you wanted it to be.”

Seungsik scoffs. Sejun is not a puppet. He never is. Chan had jokingly said that Seungsik's too nice to be a photographer, too soft to mend the models' bodies like what he had sculptured in his mind. Seungsik only commands him to do certain poses because of the demand of the client, but Sejun never needed his words, really. He is indeed an amateur model, but from what Seungsik saw from behind his lens, Sejun has mastered his angles from crown to toe. He just needs a little bit more diverse pictorials for his resume.

Seungsik does not answer, so Sejun does not have anything to reply to. When Seungsik's done with the buttons, Sejun sprays Seungsik's perfume onto his neck and wrists, and immediately left with Seungsik’s scent wafting from his body as if Sejun is already his.

 _Models_ , Seungsik thinks bitterly as his brain haunts him with blueprints of an unknown future Seungsik does not believe in.

* * *

Ever since then, Sejun hauls his drunk self to Seungsik's doorstep almost every night. Ever since then, Seungsik gets to have Sejun spilled bare and beautiful and verbose on his bed. Ever since then, a glass of water keeps appearing on Seungsik's bedside table, and it would be half-empty by sunrise, and the kitchen would smell of egg toast, and Sejun would already leave him behind with a kiss goodbye.

* * *

“Make your body look wavier,” Seungsik instructs as he captures Sejun's pose, trying to translate the language of the seas into his limbs.

A corner of his lip curves upward, just a tiny bit, but his dimple shows up anyway. Deep, deep, deep.

Seungsik's trying so hard not to get distracted because his CV and portfolio stated that he's indeed a renowned professional photographer. He has taken photos of the most famous stars in South Korea and he refuses to admit that one amateur model, still fervently climbing up to the top of the pyramid, is the one who topples his world upside down.

Sejun moves again. His right arm stretches upwards, while the other bends forward as if he has already embodied both the waves crashing boulders and the waves meeting seashores halfway, understanding the anger and the yearning.

“Good, good,” he praises. Sejun changes his pose again, leaning his weight onto his hands splayed behind his back, one of his knees folded upright, and the other folded sideways. His back arches upwards just like how his body curved when he reached the peak of his orgasm. Seungsik then mutters to himself, “Let me see the true you,” because Seungsik wants to see more sides of the waves—more sides of him that he could not see outside the sets and his bedroom.

Sejun hears it anyway and he laughs amusedly, twinkling like bells in the distance.

“You've seen me,” he responds, eyes closed and head tilted, alluding to their nightly rendezvous.

 _No, not really_ , Seungsik laments woefully, pressing the shutter button for what might have been a thousand times. _That's why I keep holding onto you, like waves and beaches. Trying to grasp you into my embrace, but I can't. I can't._

* * *

Seungsik finally has a sex playlist.

He made sure the songs did not contain anything sappy and flowery—anything that can give away a sliver of Seungsik's love. But everything sounds so physical, so kinetic, so fleeting, and every time Seungsik plays it, he feels a little bit sick.

“Why do you play something you don't like?” Sejun asks one night, droopy eyes and droopy limbs.

Seungsik looks at him, the hills and the valleys of his body and the marks he left behind. Sejun really turns him into a traveler, mapping and leaving symbols and routes before leaving him behind sometime in the future.

“So I can feel grounded,” says Seungsik, trailing Sejun's collarbone with his fingers.

_So I can fall out of love._

* * *

There is a private party in Chan's apartment. There is a lot of alcohol. There are a lot of drunken people. There is a truth or dare game even though most of them already lived a quarter into a century.

Among them, there is Sejun dared to make out with Byungchan. And he does it full with enthusiasm, high on alcohol and fervor cheers.

Seungsik, sober and burning, grabs his coat and leaves without closing the door. No one really notices until Chan's neighbor and landlord appeared with a noise complaint and dispersed the crowd into the night. Sejun, shivering cold, wants to go to Seungsik's apartment so he opens his phone to call him, but there is already a message from Seungsik.

 _I love you, but I don't know if I can do this anymore_ , it says.

Sejun runs.

* * *

Seungsik knows in a heartbeat that Sejun arrives at his doorstep. He knocks seven times after all—three for politeness, a six-second pause just to be not an annoying, demanding person, and four more times for good measure. He never forgets this little idiosyncrasy of his even when his brain is stormed with alcohol.

Seungsik, like a fool, opens the door.

 _You're too nice_ , says imaginary Chan with his stupid laugh. _You're too nice to your model._

And it's frightening, really, the way Sejun sends him a glance—the way that single glance makes Seungsik ready to kneel for him, like a knight to his prince in a fairytale.

“Say it to my face,” Sejun demands.

Seungsik crosses his arms, trying to look intimidating and such, but no, he looks like a petulant child. “Which one?”

“The one that you would not regret saying.”

“I love you,” Seungsik confesses because truthfully, he always regrets not pressing these words all over Sejun's skin those nights ago, not whispering them before Sejun leaves to the morning streets. “I love you and I want us to stop being fuck buddies. I want to stop playing that goddamn playlist. I want to stop you from leaving every morning and eat your egg toast with me. I want to see the true you and if the true you do not want to be with me, then please just leave.”

“Seungsik.” He cups Seungsik's cheek with one hand, thumbing the skin over and over again, and Seungsik tries so hard not to lean into his warmth and kiss his palm. “I told you, remember? You've seen me. All those nights—you've seen me, wanting you so, so badly. I just never thought you want more than that.”

“What? So two of us are self-deprecating idiots, then?”

Sejun grimaces. “Seems that way. Secretive, self-deprecating idiots who cannot be truthful to each other.”

“Then, the kiss with Byungchan—”

“It's only a dare, I promise.”

“Say it to me. Say it to my face, then,” echoes Seungsik, hopeful this time that those dreams he dreamed will come true.

Sejun smiles fondly and says the sacred words.

* * *

In the bedroom, they would say it again and again reverently over a thousand kisses and a thousand breaths; rooted deeply within the cage of their ribs, blooming and blooming and blooming.

Seungsik inches his fingertips way up to Sejun's waist, holding him steady, guiding him until he sinks all the way down. As Sejun catches his breath, they lock eyes.

“Watch me,” Sejun says, as he hovers above Seungsik's body and starts to move at his own pace, his hand steady on Seungsik's bicep. The light is off, but the leftover city lights are bright beyond the curtain, giving Seungsik slivers of pleasure in Sejun's closed eyes, his gasps, the rolls of his hips—so fucking insatiable, a devil in making. “Watch me that wants you, that loves you.”

And he watches. And he thrusts. And he loves.

* * *

When Seungsik's morning alarm blares noisily, he hears faint noises of a reporter's steady tone and oil sizzling on a hot pan. Groggily he walks to the source of the sound and witnesses the back of Sejun in his kitchen. It feels a little surreal to see him like this, with his messy hair and his yellow sweater that is definitely stolen from Seungsik’s closet, busy flipping eggs in the most theatrical way possible. He peers up outside his window, at the shining sun and the brilliant sky, and he certainly feels impossible.

But then there’s Sejun interlacing their fingers, bringing him back to the reality that he once thought as unattainable, and he sees his pretty dimple appearing on his cheek.

“Still sleepy?” asks Sejun, stroking the bags of his eyes.

Seungsik leans into Sejun’s fingers just because he can. “No. Not anymore.’

“Good.” Sejun beams and Seungsik lets himself be pulled because now he knows Sejun won’t let go so easily. “Because I got some egg toast for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos and comments are appreciated.  
> if you like this, please consider to help me out on [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/noktah) or [trakteer (for indonesians)](https://trakteer.id/noktah)!


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